Authors: Richard Deming
Next morning I phoned Captain Parker, head of the Metropolitan Division, as I had promised. After commending Herman Joyce for his good work, I suggested he get a couple of days’ leave as a reward.
Parker said he thought he could arrange it.
Carl Lincoln and I weren’t due to report in until five P.M. since the night trick works from five until one in the morning. But when we both checked into the squadroom at one P.M., we found Captain Maurice Spangler in his office.
The head of the Vice, Gambling, and Narcotics Division is a square-bodied, grizzled man in his early sixties, who normally has the affable manner of a traveling salesman. I say normally because on occasion he can be about as affable as a Gila monster.
This afternoon he was in a cordial mood. Smiling at Carl, who had entered the office first, he said, “What are you doing here so early, Corporal?” Then he spotted me behind Carl. “You too, Rudowski? Something must be up.”
Outside of my old neighborhood on the South Side, very few people call me Rudowski. I’m not ashamed of the name and I’m proud of my Polish ancestry. But when you have to give your name over the phone to strangers a dozen times a day, Mateuz Rudowski requires too much repeating and, quite often, spelling out. People understand me instantly when I say Matt Rudd. But for some perverse reason Maurice Spangler insists on using my real name.
When Carl and I were both seated, I said, “We’ve got Benny Polacek in the can, Captain. We nailed him at nine last night.”
Spangler looked gratified. “How good’s your evidence?”
“We haven’t seen the film yet. We left it at the lab last night. We thought maybe the D.A. would want to see it before we make the next move. We got the junk in a marked envelope and the money in another, of course, so I think we can nail him even if the film turns out blank.”
“The junk been analyzed yet?”
“Should have been by now. We left it at the lab.”
Spangler picked up his desk phone and called the Crime Lab. He asked for George Abbot, then after a few moments conversation he hung up again.
“The package was ten grains,” he said. “One grain of heroin and nine grains of powdered milk sugar. They sure gyp the poor suckers, don’t they?”
“Nine to one is about standard,” I said. “The junkies know it’s cut, but what can they do? And one grain is enough to get a conviction.”
The captain picked up the phone again and told the switchboard operator to get him the D.A.’s office. When he got through, he asked to speak to the District Attorney, Norman Dollinger.
After a moment’s wait he said, “Norm? Maury Spangler. My boys caught Benny Polacek with the goods last night.”
There was another pause, then: “Pretty solid. We haven’t seen the film yet. I thought you might want to see it too when it’s run.”
After listening, Spangler said, “O.K. Fine,” and hung up. “He’s coming right over,” he announced. “We’re to meet him in the lab.”
We all three took the stairs to the third floor and walked down the hall to the Crime Lab. Plump George Abbot was inside, peering through a microscope, but he looked up when we entered.
“Afternoon, Captain,” he said. “Hi, Rudd, Lincoln.”
The captain said, “The D.A.’s coming over to look at Rudowski’s and Lincoln’s film, George. Want to set it up in the projector?”
“Sure,” Abbot said.
Rising, he led us into the windowless projection room, which also doubled as the ballistics lab. Selecting a roll of film from a rack, he held it up to the ceiling light to examine a few feet.
“Looks pretty clear,” he said, and began putting it into the projector.
The county courthouse is only across the street from Police Headquarters. By the time Abbot had the film strung into place, the D.A. had arrived.
Norman Dollinger was a tall, slightly stooped man in his mid-fifties with a thin, studious face and horn-rimmed glasses. I suppose he was an efficient enough district attorney, but he was first a machine politician and second a servant of the people. I didn’t hold this against him, because you can’t hold office in either the city or county of St. Cecilia unless you are a machine politician. But I did hold it against him that he made a pretense of being dedicated to equal law enforcement for all, when everybody knew he winked at local rackets which had machine protection. He was up in arms over the narcotics racket solely because the machine wanted it stamped out.
The film was gratifyingly clear for an infrared job, since they don’t always come out perfect. Benny Polacek’s face was easily identifiable as he passed the junk and received payment for it. After the showing was over, Dollinger examined the other evidence and nodded with satisfaction.
“He couldn’t beat it with Clarence Darrow defending him,” he said. “Let’s go downstairs and talk to him.”
The captain returned to his office instead of going downstairs with us. Carl, the D.A., and I descended to the basement together.
The felony section is built for maximum security. You can’t even get into the booking room until the desk sergeant looks you over and presses a buzzer to release the barred entry door. No one but police officers and officers of the court are allowed farther than that, lawyers and other visitors having to wait for prisoners to be brought to the visitors’ grille. And even officers can’t carry any kind of weapon beyond the booking room.
Checking our guns at the desk, we waited for the desk sergeant to buzz open the first door to the cell blocks. Four feet beyond this was a second door which also had an electric lock controlled from the desk. It was impossible for both doors to be open at once: the first had to be closed and locked before the second would open.
Beyond the second door were the cells, three banks of them, walled with two-inch-thick plexiglass so that the patrolling inside guard could see into them at all times. Only the doors to the cells were of barred steel.
We didn’t have to ask the guard which cell Benny Polacek was in, for we could see right through them all, as though the occupants were all in one big room. He was in the far corner of the third bank, isolated from other prisoners by a distance of several cells.
When the three of us stopped in front of his barred door, Polacek looked up sullenly. Then, as he recognized the district attorney, his expression changed to one of surprise.
“Well, well,” he said. “How come the D.A. himself is interested in small potatoes like me? I expected about a twelfth assistant.”
Norman Dollinger looked him over estimatingly, then said to me, “He doesn’t seem to have the shakes.”
“He’s not a user,” I said. “Just a pusher.”
“Yeah,” Carl said. “The slob doesn’t even have the excuse of being hooked himself. He just likes the money. We saw him bareass naked last night, and there isn’t a needle mark on him.”
Dollinger turned his attention back to the prisoner. “We just ran the film of your last night’s transaction, Polacek,” he said crisply. “It came out quite well. An analysis of the product you sold shows it was cut heroin. And of course by now you realize the money you accepted was marked. Looks as though we have an open-and-shut case.”
“So I take the fall,” the pusher said with a shrug. “How come you’re telling me? All your assistants busy?”
“We consider you an important case, Benny. We’ve been laying for you for some time. We can put you away for life with no hope of parole, you know.”
Benny Polacek’s eyes narrowed. In a slow voice he said, “The way you say that, I smell the offer of a deal.”
“You smell correctly. As you say, you’re small potatoes. Ordinarily you’d just be a routine report on my desk, and I wouldn’t even bother to look at the evidence against you. You wouldn’t rate as low as a twelfth assistant, because I only happen to have five, but you’d be handled by the junior member of my staff. How would you like to walk out of here with all charges dropped?”
Benny Polacek’s eyes grew large. “You’re kidding.”
“Not at all. You mean nothing to us. The minute we salt you away, some other vermin will take over your customers. Pushers are a dime a dozen. We want the man who supplies the pushers. The wholesale outlet.”
Polacek’s eyes remained large. “You mean if I give you his name, you’ll let me walk out of here?”
The D.A. shook his head. “It’s not going to be that easy. You’re going to have to set him up, just as you were set up. We want photographic evidence of you making a buy, plus your testimony on the stand. We won’t settle for just a name. You’re off the hook only when we get a conviction.”
The prisoner’s eyes returned to normal size. “I might of known there’d be a gimmick. How long you think I’d live after the trial?”
“A long time, if you fully cooperate. We also want from you the name of every retailer you know. If we smash the entire ring, you’ll be safe enough.”
Polacek emitted a bitter laugh. “For a D.A., you ain’t been around much. A guy squeals and he’s done. Even if you picked up everybody in the business, every gun in town would be after me. They never let a pigeon get away with it, even when they got no ax to grind.”
“The code of the underworld,” I growled. “You’ve been seeing too many B movies. Nobody in any other racket is going to give a hoot in hell if you rat on a horse distributor, Benny. But if it makes you feel better, we’ll furnish you protection after the trial until you get out of town. You’d be better off living somewhere else under a new name than rotting your life away in the joint.”
He thought this over before answering. “I’d have one eye over my shoulder the rest of my life.”
“Better than having the handle of a pickax over your shoulder,” Carl said. “Would you rather make little ones out of big ones the rest of your life?”
Polacek thought some more. Finally he said, “Can I chew this over a while?”
“No,” Dollinger said definitely. “It’s a take-it-or-leave-it proposition. You can decide right now.”
“Umm. Can I talk to a lawyer before I decide?”
“If you wish. But any reputable lawyer will advise you to jump at the chance. What lawyer do you want to talk to?”
Polacek considered for some time. “How about Martin Bonner?”
The D.A. looked surprised. “He’s pretty high class for a pusher. Do you think you can get him to represent you?”
“I don’t know. He won’t know me from a hole in the wall when I call him. I just figure he’s tops, and’ll give me a right steer. Maybe you could ask him to listen to me.”
Dollinger glanced at me, and I moved my head in indication that I wanted to talk to him out of Polacek’s earshot. We walked a few yards away, Carl trailing after us.
“I was going to put in an objection when you said he could talk to a lawyer,” I said. “Chances are any lawyer he deals with regularly would also represent the wholesaler, and that would shoot the whole works. But Bonner’s as honest as they come. He couldn’t possibly have any connection with the dope ring.”
“No, I’m sure he couldn’t,” Dollinger agreed. “He seldom even takes criminal cases. Essentially he’s an estate and corporation man. Why do you suppose Polacek picked him?”
“Maybe for the reason he said,” Carl suggested. “He knows Bonner will give him a right steer.”
“Then suppose we let him phone Bonner,” the D.A. said.
But when we returned to his cell Benny Polacek had a further condition. He insisted that he be allowed to talk to the lawyer with no one eavesdropping. He stipulated that he be allowed to call from a public phone booth, with no cops within hearing range.
“I got a right to private consultation with my attorney,” he said. “It’s that way or nothing.”
The district attorney nodded and I said, “There’s one in the headquarters waiting room, Benny. How’s that?”
Benny Polacek said that would be fine.
We checked Polacek out and took him upstairs. The public phone booth was in the far corner of the waiting room. We led the prisoner over to it, and Dollinger looked up Martin Bonner’s number in the book. Stepping into the booth, he dropped a dime and dialed.
We all stood outside the open door of the booth as the district attorney asked for Martin Bonner.
After a moment he said, “Marty? This is Norm Dollinger. Do you happen to know a Benjamin Polacek?”
There was a pause, then: “I didn’t think you would. He’s not exactly your type of client. The police picked him up last night for peddling heroin. We’ve offered him a deal, but he insists on legal advice before accepting it and he chose you as the adviser. I’d appreciate it if you’d talk to him. I’m not asking you to accept him as a client. I just want you to talk to him on the phone for a minute.”
After another pause, Dollinger said, “He’s right here. I’ll put him on.”
Stepping from the booth, he handed the phone to Polacek. The pusher moved into the booth, but left the door open.
“You officers mind going over by the desk where I can see you?” he said. “I don’t want you sneaking up alongside the booth to listen in.”
With a shrug, Dollinger moved over to the desk. Carl and I followed. We stood there, about twenty feet away, watching.
Polacek kept one eye on us as he spoke into the phone. We could see his lips move as he spoke at considerable length, but we couldn’t hear a thing he said at that distance. When he finished speaking, he listened for some time, periodically nodding. Once or twice his lips moved as he injected some comment.
All at once his voice came to us clearly. “Hello! Hello!” He reached up to jiggle the hook, repeated it a couple of times more, then stuck his head out from the booth.
“We got cut off,” he called. “One of you officers got another dime?”
We all felt in our pockets, and I came up with one. Dollinger followed me over to the booth.
When I handed Polacek the dime, he said to the D.A., “What’s that number again, Mr. Dollinger?”
“Channel 7-3241,” Dollinger said.
Polacek dropped the coin, then waved us back to the desk. Retreating, we watched as he redialed and again conversed in a tone too low to hear at that distance. The conversation went on for a good five minutes before he finally hung up and stepped from the booth.
When he came over to the desk he said, “You win, Mr. Dollinger. Let’s go somewhere quiet where we can talk.”
“I told you any reputable lawyer would advise you to go along,” the D.A. said.
Polacek grinned at him. “I figured that. I just wanted advice on how to get the best deal. I thought maybe I could get an agreement of immunity in writing from you, but Bonner says not to push my luck. He says he’s sure you wouldn’t sign anything, but your word is good. That’s good enough for me.”
The district attorney stared at him coldly. “You thought I might sign my name to a written agreement with a criminal?”
“No harm in trying, is there? Bonner said the suggestion would probably make you mad. Shall we find that quiet place?”
We took him upstairs to the squadroom. He took his time settling himself in a chair and getting a cigarette going before he spoke. Then he said, “The name of the wholesaler is going to knock your hats off. Better fasten your safety belts.”
“Get on with it,” Dollinger said impatiently.
“It’s Goodie White.”
All three of us stared at him. “Goodie White?” Dollinger repeated incredulously.
“Uh-huh.”
Goodman White was city councilman from the Twelfth Ward. It didn’t surprise me that the councilman was involved in a racket, because many of St. Cecilia’s politicians were. It just surprised me that he was involved in narcotics.
St. Cecilia isn’t a syndicate town, and there are no protected rackets in the sense that anyone gets paid off to leave them alone. But there is a political hierarchy which operates in a somewhat feudal manner. At the top, the city and county administrations, both parts of the same machine, exercise limited dictatorial power over an army of lieutenants whose influence varies according to the number of votes they control.
Some, such as Goodie White, deliver the vote of only a single ward. Others control whole districts, or even several districts. But both the big and the small operate much as did feudal barons, owing allegiance to the princes who run the machine while retaining a degree of independence to run things as they see fit in their own areas. Many are honest men; probably as many more are involved in rackets of different sorts. As long as the rackets stay within tacitly prescribed limits, the powers that be look the other way.
The prescribed limits are pretty strict. A ward leader can get away with operating a discreet gambling house, a string of bookie joints, a lottery, or a call-girl racket so long as he continues to deliver the vote. He pays nothing to protect such rackets, but any cop unwise enough to interfere with them is likely to be called on the carpet by old Baldy Mason, our politically appointed police commissioner, and advised to stop persecuting Baldy’s political colleagues. Persistence can get you transferred to the sticks.
But two things are out: murder and narcotics. This isn’t because of any humanitarianism on the part of the administration. It’s simply that the machine wants to stay entrenched, and is wise enough to know the public will put up with only so much. Activities which might bring on a clamor for reform aren’t tolerated. No one, regardless of political power, can get away with either murder or dope peddling in St. Cecilia.
That’s why I was surprised at hearing the name of Goodie White. If what Polacek said was true, the councilman had been laying himself wide open to being thrown to the wolves.
Norman Dollinger said, “Can you substantiate this charge?”
“I’m gonna set him up for you, ain’t I? That’ll substantiate it.”
I noticed a pleased glitter in the district attorney’s eyes. For a moment I was puzzled, because I thought the news that a fellow member of the administration was involved in narcotics would upset him. Then I remembered that Goodie White had tried to get the party to endorse another candidate for district attorney in the last primary election. Even though they belonged to the same party, the two were political foes.
Dollinger said, “How does White get supplies to you pushers?”
“We pick up the junk at his bowling alley.”
City Councilman wasn’t a full-time job: Goodie White’s primary career was owner and manager of a bowling alley, restaurant, and cocktail lounge.
“Does he personally handle the sales?” Dollinger asked.
“Sure.”
“Exactly what is the procedure?”
“It’s nothing fancy. When I want to make a pickup, I phone in advance. Goodie arranges to be behind the lane-reservation desk when I get there. Next to the desk there’s a showcase with bowling stuff in it. Balls and bags, shoes and gloves, ball cleaners, and stuff like that. I pretend to be buying some small item, usually a can of ball cleaner. Goodie’s got the junk in a prescription envelope, palmed, and when he drops the can in a paper bag, the junk goes in too. I pass him the money in big bills, plus one single dollar. He palms the big ones, rings up the sale for the ball cleaner, and gives me my change from the dollar. Nobody watching sees anything at all out of the way.”
“What’s your usual buy?” I asked.
“An ounce. That’s a couple of weeks’ supply for my size business.”
I did some mental arithmetic. There are four hundred and eighty grains in an ounce, and the way Polacek cut the stuff, his customers had only been getting a single grain of pure heroin in each package. At three-fifty a pop, he had been grossing sixteen hundred and forty dollars every two weeks.
“What’s Goodie charge for an ounce of the pure stuff?” I asked.
“Four hundred bucks.”
That left twelve-forty profit, or a net of six hundred and twenty dollars a week, roughly six times my income.
Carl said, “With the transaction right out in the open like that, we oughtn’t to have any trouble getting a film. Only thing is, Goodie knows both of us.”
“We’ll teach Hermie Joyce to run a camera,” I said. “We can rig a bowling bag with a camera inside, have him wander in and sit down nearby with the bag in his lap. That’s no problem.”
“How soon can you set White up?” Dollinger asked.
Polacek took a final contemplative drag on his cigarette, looked around for an ash tray; when he saw none, he dropped the butt on the floor and carefully stepped it out. “I just made a buy less than a week ago. He’d be suspicious if I hit him for another before next week.”
The district attorney glanced at me, and I said, “We don’t want to boot this by getting impatient. We’d better wait until Benny’s due to make his regular buy. When will that be, Benny?”
“I usually hit him on a Friday afternoon.”
It was now Wednesday, which meant a nine-day wait before he was scheduled to buy again.
Dollinger said, “That’s a devil of a long time to have this thing hang fire.”
“It took us two weeks to get Benny,” Carl said. “Let’s not take the chance of scaring Goodie off.”
“All right, we’ll wait it out,” Dollinger agreed. “We’ll just hold Polacek until we’re ready to move.”
“Goodie would know something was rotten if I’m out of circulation,” Polacek protested.
“That’s right,” I said. “If we want to use him, we’re going to have to turn him loose.”
“Suppose he runs?” Dollinger objected.
“He won’t be that loose,” I assured him. “He’ll be under observation twenty-four hours a day.”
“All right,” the D.A. consented. “Then it’s agreed that you’ll arrange to make a buy the Friday after next, Polacek. Meanwhile, I want you to understand that the charge against you is still hanging over your head. If anything goes wrong, even if it’s not your fault, I’ll get you stashed away for life. Understand?”
Polacek licked his lips. “Yes, sir.”
“Now we’ll move on to another subject. I want a complete list of every pusher you know.”
Benny Polacek said slowly, “Let me get this straight. If you don’t get a conviction against Goodie White, you’re going to cook me anyway, aren’t you?”
“You can bank on it.”
“Then why should I give you anything until I know I’m in the clear? When the jury brings in a verdict of guilty on Goodie, I’ll unload everything I know. Until then, I’ll sit tight.”
“You’re hardly in a position to bargain, Polacek,” Dollinger said coldly.
“Who’s bargaining? I’m just telling you flat out how it’s gonna be. I’m not gonna spill a lot of stuff, then get sent up anyway. If you don’t like that, throw me back in the can, and we’ll forget the whole thing.”
Dollinger looked at me, and I shrugged. “We probably know most of the pushers he could name, anyway. I have a more important question than that. What’s Goodie’s source of the junk, Benny?”
The pusher shook his head. “That I couldn’t tell you. If I knew I’d buy direct, instead of paying Goodie’s price.”
“O.K. Here’s one you can answer. Who was driving you last night?”
Polacek pursed his lips. After considering, he shook his head again. “The guy’s never been in trouble and he didn’t know what I was doing. He just drove me as a favor because my car was laid up.”
Carl said, “If he’s so pure, why’d he take off like an astronaut when you yelled cops?”
“Oh, he knew I was up to something. He just didn’t know what. I told him to take off if there was any trouble. It wouldn’t do no good to talk to him. He ain’t even in the racket.”
It looked as though we were going to have to settle, at least temporarily, for Goodie White, period. I rose to my feet.
“Let’s go back down to the felony section,” I said. “You can pick up your stuff and go home.”